Demolition Lovers (Frerard)

23: Nobody Likes This Chapter

Morning itself didn't feel real, and perhaps Gerard would have even preferred waking up alone, even in his current state, and that was one of utter confusion and discomfort, because this didn't feel real and it didn't feel right, but it was, and Gerard couldn't deny that he was thankful that Bert was at least there to keep him company, or sane at the very least.

Because he'd fucked up like this, and he'd fucked up big time; Frank mattered, and Frank would care, but it was too late now, and Gerard just rolled away in his best attempt to fall back asleep in the grave he'd dug himself, but before he could quite close the lid of his coffin, a voice.

A soft and sleepy, "hey," from the man in bed next to him, who stirred a little as the blankets had twisted and contorted frantically around Gerard's somewhat panicked form, and then, a perhaps slightly less calm and subdued, "Gerard?" in response to the lack of response from the man beside him; Bert knew Gerard as awake, and Gerard knew he was going to get away with just laying here forever, no matter how much he might want to.

"H-hey..." Gerard finally stumbled upon a response, pushing it hastily between his lips, almost choking on his own breath and anxiety, and there was very little hiding it as far as Bert was concerned at the very least.

"What's wrong?" He asked, moving in the covers so he was beside Gerard, who still remained stubborn with his back to Bert, however he made no move to object as the other man placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, before tentatively moving it down his back, stopping as it dipped in a little, and repeating his motions to bring his hand back up to Gerard's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze as he did so. "Come on, Gerard, tell me."

Gerard lay there in silence, just breathing, just breathing, just existing, but not really living, not really there, before uttering the two most simple, expressionless words he could happen upon in a short space of time, "I'm okay."

"You're not." Bert's response was instant, much unlike Gerard's; Bert insistent that Gerard turned and faced him, or at least spoke to him at the very least, but the artist didn't see things like that - he saw that he'd fucked up, he saw the mess he'd made, and more importantly.

Gerard saw the texts on his cellphone from Frank at three in the morning: the two simple texts that had thrown everything to shit; they said very little, but in that, still entirely far too much, enough to make Gerard's whole body ache, in fact, and perhaps even enough to have him cry, but he hadn't quite gotten that far yet.

'You never hung up the phone.'

The first text was sent at exactly three twenty four in the morning, and Gerard couldn't even imagine what sat Frank must have been when he'd sent it.

'I heard every word and I know about you and him and I'm not happy, Gerard, I'm really not and you're going to find that out soon.'

The second text was sent six minutes later, at three thirty precisely, and then nothing: perhaps frank had fallen asleep at that point, but knowing the irrational gesture of Gerard's ex-boyfriend, it wasn't exactly ridiculous to suggest otherwise, in fact, it'd probably be ridiculous not to.

"I'm not."

It had been a good few minutes since the silence had faded with the hum of conversation, but two simple words brought it all back, Bert almost jumping a little at Gerard's acceptance of his current mentality.

"Tell me why?" Bert suggested, pulling at Gerard's shoulder a little, in something like suggestion that the other man turn and face him, however, Gerard wasn't exactly inclined to, or just didn't quite get the hint; Bert was unable to tell.